


Blood and Fire

by UltimateFandomTrash



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Beating, Burning, F/M, Knives, Magic, PTSD, There's a character death, Torture, Whipping, but it's not a major character death, probably some incorrect latin, season 13, unnecessarily large amounts of symbolism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-11
Updated: 2018-02-11
Packaged: 2019-03-16 16:32:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13640082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UltimateFandomTrash/pseuds/UltimateFandomTrash
Summary: Back from the dead, Ketch captures Rowena and tortures her, trying to get her to make another resurrection seal for him.





	Blood and Fire

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a request.
> 
> There's probably some very incorrect Latin in here. I tried my best. I'm sorry. And maybe one of the spells is too long-winded, but I liked the meaning of it too much to cut it down, but yeah, that part might be a bit difficult. Sorry.
> 
> I wrote this in two days, so I'm kind of in a haze and I hope this is okay. The various conversations with Sam and Rowena were difficult since I saw the canon versions of these conversations in 13x12 "Various & Sundry Villains", but I did my best to rework them, wanting to deal with some of Rowena's trauma.
> 
> Overall, I had a lot of fun writing this, and I hope you all enjoy reading it, lengthy as it may be.

Rowena was disoriented when she woke up, mostly because she didn’t remember going to sleep the night before. Had she? She had been enjoying a cup of tea in her hotel room, and then… this. There was something heavy around her wrists and she realized she was standing on her toes, her arms raised above her head. Panic flashed through her and she opened her eyes wildly, looking around. She was in a dungeon. Along with that realization came the smell. It was musty, and familiar to her for some reason. But there was another smell beneath it, something metallic and sickly sweet. Blood. It was dark in the dungeon, the walls made of rough, almost reddish stone. The only light was from a few windows to her right that were higher up and had bars going across them. Across from her was a low table of dark wood, and laid out on it were torture devices, many of them gleaming silver in the dull light. She couldn’t see everything on the table from where she was, but she could see some knives of different styles and variation, spikes, needles, and what might have been a whip.

Looking up at the cuffs and chains that held her, Rowena muttered a hex, one that would easily break the heavy metal. Her wrists burned as she did so, and glowing, orange runes flashed angrily in the stone walls. She tried again, with the same result. Out of curiosity she tried another spell. The runes burned in her vision, mocking her. The room was warded. There would be no getting out.

She blinked her eyes against more light as a door opened, and she heard in a voice she recognized, the accent British, “Ah, you’re awake.”

“Ketch,” she snarled when he stepped into full view. He was in a perfectly tailored suit like always, but she noticed that the cross tattoo that had been on his hand was missing. She forced herself to smile, though she started struggling against the chains that held her to the ceiling. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Arthur Ketch folded his hands in front of him, a dangerous, untamed glint in his brown eyes. He put on the display of being in control of himself, of having everything planned out to the last detail, but she’d been a captive at his hands before and she knew what he was really like. There was something predatory beneath the façade he put up, and he had once let it out around her. No wonder the British Men of Letters had him working for them. Or perhaps they didn’t anymore. They didn’t have dungeons. So who was he working for? Was he on his own now?

“I need something from you,” he stated, getting right down to business.

“Then ask nicely like a normal person,” she sneered. “And how… How did I even _get_ here?”

He smiled coldly. “The tea you were drinking last night. I drugged it. And yes, normally that wouldn’t work on someone of your ilk, but I find that adding in a little magic makes it rather effective.”

“H-”

“How did I find you?” he interrupted, guessing at her next question. He came closer, laughing softly, “Oh, Rowena, you know how to make a lot of noise.”

“But I haven’t killed anyone _important_ ,” she reasoned.

“No, but your spells do have a certain quality to them that can be traced if one knows what they’re looking for. Now, enough of this. Since I last had the… _pleasure_ of dealing with you, the Winchesters killed me.”

“Good for them. Which one was it?”

“The details aren’t important. I need another resurrection seal.”

Rowena looked around her surroundings some more, trying to figure out where she was, but as she did so, she pretended to make it look like she was thinking. She recognized where she was, but she couldn’t put her finger on it. If she’d been there before she certainly hadn’t been in this room. Or maybe she didn’t know where she was. It wasn’t like dungeons were foreign to her. She’d found herself locked up in many in her long, long life.

“You’ve given me one before,” he added. “I don’t see the trouble of you doing so again.”

There wouldn’t really be any trouble with giving him another resurrection seal, would there? But no, she couldn’t do it. She didn’t want yet another monster in the world who couldn’t be defeated. A shudder ran through her as red eyes flashed through her mind. She winced, and turned her head away from him, hoping he hadn’t noticed.

Rowena swallowed roughly, and then looked him directly in the eyes and told him, “Try asking someone else, dear. I don’t feel very generous at the moment.”

Ketch rushed up to her, grabbing her face in one hand, his grip tight and hurting her jaw. “I’m trying my very best to not hurt you - think of it as a courtesy for an old friend - but as you already know, I am not a man you should mess with, Rowena.”

All she could think was that he was pathetic. He hadn’t appeared that way to her when he’d tortured her before, but now she’d suffered at the hands of the Prince of Darkness. To her, nothing could be worse than that.

A feeling of horror, and dark dread washed over her, freezing her blood and making the hair at the back of her neck stand on end. She started finding it very difficult to breathe. Lucifer’s true face entered her mind, something so horrible, and evil, and full of malice and hatred and deep, burning cold. She’d never come across anything like it before, and now the sight, one that had become unholy and twisted and worse than the horrors of Hell, was trying to fracture her mind again.

But she couldn’t let it.

She focused on the hand on her face, focused on the fact that it was Ketch’s, that he was the man in front of her. Not… _him_. It wasn’t him. She could withstand this. Ketch would be child’s play.

“Really?” she began. “The way I see it, you’re a child asking for something you don’t understand. Torture me all you want. The answer is no.”

He breathed in deeply, seeming pleased, and Rowena knew she might have just unleashed the monster in him.

“I’m so very glad you said that. I was starting to get bored around here.”

Rowena wanted to ask where _here_ was, but she knew he wouldn’t answer that. He was too intelligent to give away such information. He let go of her, going over to the table.

“Do you have any preferences for what I start with?” he asked. “I know last time you really enjoyed the skinning knife.”

Rowena breathed in deeply, closing her eyes. Oh god, this was really happening to her. She was going to be hurt again. And Ketch mentioning the skinning knives brought back a horrible memory of their last time together. Burning, screaming. That burning, and that screaming, led to another time of suffering, one that had happened much more recently. Lucifer’s laughter met her ears, and her throat ached from holding back sudden tears.

 _It’s not Lucifer!_ she chided herself. _Stop acting like some silly girl._

Rowena knew she wasn’t being silly, knew that she most likely had every right to be afraid. But she hated it. She hated the part of herself that was always afraid, that shrunk in fear at any reminder of Lucifer, that wanted to curl up somewhere dark and remote and never deal with anyone ever again. She just wanted to be safe. And now she wasn’t. She _wasn’t_ safe. Yet again, someone was going to hurt her. 

But it was Ketch. She’d dealt with him before. She’d be fine.

Though, she knew last time she hadn’t been fine. She hadn’t been able to hold out. She’d given in and that was why he’d had a resurrection seal, and now why he wanted one again.

 _I can do this,_ she told herself.

She could. She could! Last time he’d been the worst monster she’d had to endure, but now that wasn’t the case. He was human. He wasn’t Lucifer. She could do this.

Ketch’s voice helped draw her from her jumbled thoughts: “Come now, Rowena. Be a good sport about this. What should I start with?”

The dungeon came back to her, and Ketch was turned to her again, looking expectant.

“Start with whatever you damn well feel like. I’m above fueling your sick fantasies.”

He closed his eyes and took in a frustrated breath. “Fine. Seeing as you need a lesson in being polite, I’ll start with this.” As he said the last word, he turned and grabbed something from the table, holding it up. It was made of black metal, and was two-pronged, nearly looking like a fire poker, the end of it hooked and wickedly sharp.

“Oh? And what’s that?”

“My newest toy,” he said, coming closer as he ran a hand over it in a loving way. “It used to be called the breast ripper. I know, quite a crude name. It was used for medieval torture, and I find its original purpose simply barbaric. For reasons I’m sure you can imagine I simply like to call it the ripper. That, and I put my own little spin on it. You see, there used to be another half to this, but I just didn’t find it efficient enough. It was much too deadly, and I never strive to kill my playmates, so I did away with it. Beautiful, isn’t it?”

Now he was close to her again, and she could smell his aftershave, the scent nearly stinging her nose.

“Besides,” he breathed, “why would I limit myself to just one part of your body like the original owners of this device? So sad, really. They don’t know what they were missing out on.”

He swung out and then it was as if fire had plunged into Rowena’s abdomen. She screamed, her body instantly wrenching at her bonds, but still those cruel metal talons remained in her. And then it was being dragged across her stomach, down over to her right hip. She felt blood, hot and fresh, well out from the wounds, her black dress soaking it up.

Finally the device left her, but she was still crying out and whimpering, trying to make sense of this new pain she was feeling.

Ketch lifted up the ripper, smiling as he swiped some of the blood off with his thumb as if it was simply water.

“Such lovely screams,” he complimented. “If I didn’t know any better I’d say you were saving them just for me.”

“Y-you _wish_ ,” Rowena got out. “But you’re not that special.”

He trailed the ends of it along her shoulders, even using the metal to push the sleeve of her dress off of her shoulder, her own blood staining her pale skin.

“I know. I’m just doing what I must.”

His eyes went to the device, which he dragged down over in between her breasts, and then lower, just above her bleeding abdomen.

“But that doesn’t mean I can’t indulge myself a little.”

And then the device was in her again, and he ripped it straight down, tearing at her flesh. He pulled it out just above her pelvis.

The cuts in her stung and burned, but that wasn’t the sole reason she was screaming again. She was screaming because she wanted to be let free. She wanted to kill the sick bastard. She didn’t want to be anyone’s prisoner, or toy, or whatever he thought of her as. She just wanted to be away from him, away from everyone who could hurt her. Before she knew it, the ache in her throat grew and then tears were rolling down her cheeks.

Ketch stayed quiet as he let her screams turn into pathetic whines, and then he asked, “Have you had enough of this? If you want I can certainly start torturing you with something else. Needles, perhaps? You didn’t let me get to use them for long last time. Perhaps that’s your weak spot.”

“Go to Hell!” Rowena screeched at him.

The threat of needles didn’t scare her much, not right now. She was too busy living with the agony in her abdomen. She could feel that the cuts didn’t go very deep, but by god, did they hurt. Her dress was already getting stained with blood, and some of it was on Ketch’s hands and marring the white cuffs of his dress shirt. He had a wild look in his eyes that nearly made them shine, and he was smiling, showing his teeth.

“I’m very sure I eventually will,” he breathed. “But not yet. I plan on getting that resurrection seal from you.”

“Oh, go cry to your mummy,” she threw out, hardly thinking about how she might regret her words.

She screeched as he suddenly swung out, having the metal tear through the top of her right thigh. Instead of dragging it down this time he just tore it out and then whacked her there again, the injuries overlapping. Even more fire plunged through her body, claws of cruel metal digging into her, and she couldn’t even scream this time because he kept doing it, blood flying through the air and landing on his face.

Finally, he pulled the ripper free for good, tossing it onto the floor with a loud clang that made her flinch. He licked his lips, not at all seeming to care that flecks of her blood had gotten on them. He grabbed her hair, yanking her head back, pressing himself up against her. Rowena continued crying.

“ _That_ was not very nice,” he hissed. “But I do hope you haven’t learned your lesson. I’m just getting started, my dear.” He dug a thumb into the cuts on her leg, making her body tense as she cried out. She kicked out feebly with her other leg, trying to get away from him, but it was no use. “And don’t worry about what I did to your leg. The ripper doesn’t cut deep enough to hit any arteries.”

He lowered himself, withdrawing his thumb from her wound, but he felt over her side with his other hand in a way that made her uncomfortable and even more frightened. He lifted her dress up, his hands feeling over her left leg to her knee, and then he was undoing the zipper on one of her red high-heeled boots. He took it off, and then he did the same with her other leg.

“Q-quit… touching me like that, you witless arse,” she got out.

“Oh, do you not like it? My apologies.” He beamed up at her. “It’s not as if torture is supposed to make one miserable and despairing.” He stood, taking the hem of his dress with her so that it was raised up. “Now, let’s bare those gorgeous legs of yours.”

She struggled against him, but that only made pain flare through her, and she closed her eyes, growing dizzy from it.

“Don’t you dare,” she said in a near-whisper, her voice already going hoarse from all the screaming.

He didn’t listen to her and then started pulling her tights off, the thin fabric sticking to her where her blood had already been soaked up. She was surprised when he only kept his touch on her legs, and soon, the garment was off. It wasn’t as if it had provided much warmth or that it was very cold in the dungeon, but she found herself shivering anyway.

“Oh, would you look at those adorable, little toes,” he commented. “And painted red too. I find the color fitting given your current predicament.”

“You would,” she stated, remembering how much Ketch seemed to enjoy little things like that.

Now that her boots were off, standing was a bit more challenging. Her toes barely touched the rough floor, and more strain was put on her arms and shoulder blades. She was going to be sore from that later.

He picked up her boots and placed them neatly over by the wall before going back over to the table, his hands brushing over the weapons and devices he had there.

“So much to choose from,” he mused. “I could spend days with you, but that’s not necessary. If you just agree to make me a seal here and now I’ll let you go.”

Oh, how badly she wanted to be let go. She wanted to run from him, run from everyone. But to make him another seal, it would be madness. He didn’t deserve it. Not that she deserved it either, but the world would be better off with Ketch dead. He wasn’t the only one she wished death upon. A great many people used to be on that list, but as time wore on they’d all died off. Now there was one name at that top of the list. One person she wanted to burn into nothing.

Phantom pain took over her skull, and she clamped her mouth shut against a cry, more tears streaming down her face. Her pulse quickened till the mere beat of her heart hurt and made her ache, and spasms of memory shot through her spine like electricity. Her skull was being crushed. Red eyes burned through her, flames licking hungrily at her skin.

“Stop!” she cried out, unable to take it anymore. “Please, stop!”

Ketch laughed, drawing her back to the dungeon.

“Stop?” he chuckled. “I’m just getting started.”

Not caring how hairbrained she’d sound, Rowena said through gritted teeth, “I wasn’t talking to you.”

He fully turned to her then, and she noticed a silver spike with a black grip in his hand. He raised his eyebrows. “Oh? Then who were you talking to? Do tell. I’m all ears.”

She breathed heavily, the memories still trying to consume her.

_No, Rowena. You’re not in a hotel room. You’re in a dungeon._

She almost laughed, finding it amusing that to her a hotel room was now more terrifying than a dungeon. But it was. Lucifer had made sure of that.

Rowena forced a smile onto her face as he stalked over to her. “I’m sure you are, but it’ll be too much for your poor stomach to handle. Wouldn’t want you getting sick, now would we?”

He genuinely laughed. “I assure you, I have a very strong stomach.” 

At that he jabbed the spike into her, in between her shoulder and her neck. The pain shot through her violently, making itself known in a burst of scarlet fire. It went halfway down her spine, up through her neck, and even through her collarbone. The scream that came out of her was far from dignified. Without pause, he tore it out and did the same to the other side of her. Rowena’s back arched, her head thrown back as agony tried to take her over. And it didn’t take her mind off of her torn leg and abdomen either. This new torment was simply added on top of it.

She was shaking and sweating, whimpering after her screams died down, and she eyed Ketch with wide, terrified eyes. He didn’t look fazed at all. If anything he looked excited. Words wouldn’t come to her, yet she wanted to yell at him, to curse him, to tell him to die. But since her lips and tongue didn’t want to cooperate with her in that way, she simply spit in his face.

Ketch flinched back, taking a step away from her. He wiped his face with a hand.

“Fiery spirit to match the fiery hair,” he mused. “Good to know there’s still a fighter in you. Gives me plenty to break.”

Something ached in Rowena’s chest, made her breathing heavier, until her chest was heaving. And then her voice was leaving her, growing louder and louder until she was screaming. Her power rushed out of her in a whirlwind of torment and agony, and she threw all she had at the walls of the dungeon, wishing to all there was that she could get free, that this prison would break. Light burst through the room, Rowena the epicenter of it, and the sheer force of it knocked Ketch backwards and into the table with all the devices he loved so much. She wasn’t surprised. Standing near her would be like standing next to a small bomb, minus the heat and incineration, but the force traveling through the air was still very present. The runes in the walls glowed so bright and hot that the energy began to burn the stone, smoke curling up from it.

Still she was in those chains, and still she was locked in that room.

She held out as long as she could, but her energy waned quickly, as if the runes were soaking it up, using her own powers against her. With a gasp of air her head hung forward, and she ceased her attempts, vain as they had been.

Ketch was picking himself up off the floor, groaning in pain.

“The room’s… the room’s warded,” he explained, one hand to his chest. “You’re not getting out of here… unless I let you.”

Maybe some of her power had been able to harm him. She hoped so. Surely the sheer force of it had been enough to do some damage to the human body.

“Though, frankly, there might be… ah, something wrong with the warding. You shouldn’t be able to use your magic at all.”

Rowena wasn’t about to explain to him that that hadn’t been magic. There’d been nothing to that but power, energy, and sheer force of will. At least it had done _something_. He winced, actually letting out a high pitched whine.

She lifted her head up, just enough to look him in the eyes. “How does it feel to be the one hurtin’ now?” she asked him through gritted teeth, her breathy, pained tone not taking away from her satisfaction

Ketch bared his teeth at her and then he left the room in a hurry. Rowena was too tired to even try using her magic for the few seconds the door was open.

After Ketch left Rowena painstakingly turned her head and bit down on the grip of the spike that was still in her. Her body shaking as she did so, she slowly removed the spike from her shoulder and then spit it out. She grew sick to her stomach looking at it, so she turned away. The runes that she had seen earlier were now burned into the very stone, darkening it in shades of black and gray. Now that she was able to take it in, she recognized the runes. They were her own. There was only one other person who had known her spellwork. Her son, Fergus.

His lair. That’s where she was! But why was _Ketch_ working with him? What had she done to upset her son so greatly as for him to allow this to be done to her? Rowena just didn’t know. Another tear fell down her cheek and she wished she could wipe it away.

No, it didn’t matter why Crowley was letting this happen to her. None of it did. She had to get out. That’s what mattered.

An idea started coming to mind, but for it, she’d need to leave the room, that much was obvious. She wouldn’t need that much else for it though. Just a knife would do, and there were plenty now on the floor. But first she’d have to get out of these chains.

Rowena tried to lift herself up, but she couldn’t get enough leverage with the way the chains held her. She cried out as she fell back down, the force of it jarring her injuries.

Maybe she would be able to use her magic. The Grand Coven had put a binding spell on her that dampened her powers and she was sure that without it the chains wouldn’t even be a problem. But maybe she’d done enough damage to the warding to be able to use her powers.

The minutes passed, and Rowena focused on the cuffs on her wrist, murmuring spells to weaken the metal. It was draining and her wrists burned in that similar way as before, but the runes weren’t glowing as brightly. She could sense the power from the warding. It had moved outward, going into the building itself rather than in the runes where it was supposed to be. Though it had taken her power from before it’d siphoned it incorrectly, weakening the hold it had on her. It was exhausting, and now it was as if someone was pounding away against the inside of her skull, the feeling making her sick to her stomach as it reminded her of Lucifer. But she kept at it.

About a half hour passed, and she was close to getting free, when Ketch came back. He looked good as new, and this time his jacket was off, his sleeves rolled up. Rowena had expected some false pleasantry from him, but there was none of that. Anger burned in his eyes. Without a word he picked up the table and started placing his various torture devices back onto it. As he did so Rowena kept muttering a spell underneath her breath, still working away at the cuffs.

There was a clink, and her wrists were freed. She nearly fell to the floor, but caught herself in time, though she couldn’t put much weight on her right leg. The sounds had been so quiet Ketch hadn’t noticed, and his back was still towards her.

Rowena made a run towards him, grabbing one of the knives, and slicing into his arm with it. Blood flew through the air, and he cried out.

“What the bloody hell?”

He looked to her, eyes wide with surprise. He picked up a knife of his own as he said, “Rowena, now, let’s not get any crazy ideas.”

Knowing that if she took the time to talk he might manage to grab her, Rowena turned and limped towards the door as quickly as she could. She opened it, falling as she put too much pressure onto her leg. And then she rolled her sleeve up, cutting into her left forearm as she murmured, “ _Meque illi sanguinem meum quaero. Cum hoc unum quaeram sanguinem mittere_.” It was difficult concentrating on the spell and the message she wanted to send at the same time, especially since the knife digging into her skin hurt, but she managed. By the time Ketch was straddling her, a hand in her hair, she’d written out into her left forearm, _Sam. It’s Rowena. Crowley’s Lair. Help._

Ketch wrenched the knife from her hand and tossed it aside, pulling back on her hair till her neck hurt. Hurriedly, Rowena rubbed her forearm on the ground, smearing the blood so Ketch wouldn’t be able to read the message she’d sent. Even if he could it was too late. And maybe he wouldn’t understand what she’d done.

He placed his own knife against her neck threateningly, though she had a feeling he wouldn’t use it.

“What were you doing with that?” he asked, his tone deadly cold.

“Nothing you’d be intelligent enough to understand, you oaf.”

At that he let out a wordless shout, his legs tightening around her, he pulled the knife away from her neck and then there was a strange tugging sensation on her hair, one that was different from before. It left for a second before returning again. Rowena realized what he was doing. He was cutting her hair off.

“No! _No!_ ” she screeched at him, struggling to get out from underneath him.

She didn’t care that this didn’t hurt. It was her _hair_ , it was part of who she was, and he was just cutting it away from her like it meant nothing. She reached her hand up to try and pry the knife from him, to do _something_. All that earned her was a deep cut in the palm of her hand and then she was crying out from that. She writhed beneath him, trying to get free, but it was no use. He was bigger and heavier than her. Her wounds throbbed as she fought him. The hair he’d cut from her fell to her shoulders, onto the floor, and she started crying. To see her hair like that, to know that he was doing this to her without her permission. 

Eventually he finished and then he got up just a bit and rolled her over, making her face him. Rowena thought maybe he was going to say something, but instead he pressed his hand over her stomach, much too hard, the air being forced out of her, her wound howling. He used the knife to caress her face in a way that made her very uncomfortable, and then he slashed her cheek, making her cry out.

“What were you using the knife for, Rowena?”

“It’d be easier to have one demand at a time!” she yelled out. “What do you want? Do you want me to tell you my tragic backstory? Do you want to know what I was doing with the knife? Or do you want the bloody resurrection seal?”

He got right in her face, growling out, “You know I want the seal.”

Rowena wasn’t sure why, but she started laughing. Maybe blood loss was getting to her, making her loopy.

“You’ll have to try harder.”

“Oh, I will.”

He pulled back, placed the knife calmly on the ground, and then he was punching her, his fists driving into her stomach, her face, her head whipping back and forth so fast her neck hurt. She couldn’t get any air in to scream, let out alone breathe. All she could do was gasp and grunt as she took this beating. When her face must’ve been sufficiently bloodied he got up off of her, and then he was kicking her. Once. Twice. Three times.

Just when she couldn’t take it anymore, Ketch was grabbing onto what was left of her hair, and yanking her to her feet. He unceremoniously dragged her back into the room, and she was too in a daze to fight him as he chained her up again.

Ketch ran a hand over his shirt, smoothing it, as he looked her over. Rowena blearily raised her head up, her neck hurting from it, but it didn’t hurt as much as her throbbing face or abdomen. At least now she could breathe.

“So… what’s next?” she challenged with swollen lips, although she really wanted to be done with this.

She could hold out long enough for Sam to get to her. She had to believe that. It’d be a shock for the poor boy to suddenly have a message cut into his arm, but she knew he could deal with it. The message itself might very well freak him out more. She hadn’t yet revealed to the Winchesters that she was alive. Rowena simply hadn’t seen any need to until now.

As an answer Ketch picked up a whip. It wasn’t just any plain whip. There were multiple straps of leather that came together with one grip, and she saw something glinting in it.

“I think you need to learn from your little escape attempt.”

She lifted her chin up at him. “And how do you know that’s what I was doing?”

Ketch glowered at her, and continued talking, ignoring her. “This little beauty, I love. I modified it; took a nine tail whip and added barbed wire into it. It looks much more _hungry_ that way.”

Rowena trembled as he came over to her. He got behind her, running the whip over her feet, which she now realized were completely vulnerable, especially while she had to try and hold herself up like this. He slid the leather up along her legs, the barbed wire scraping against her pale skin like teeth, and then he pulled it back.

Rowena tensed, waiting for the iminent flash of torment.

It came, but not where she expected.

Stinging erupted in the soles of her feet, harsh leather and wire whipping around to tear into the tops of her feet as well. She cried out, tried bringing her feet up and away, but her body just didn’t want to cooperate. Already she was weak from what she’d been through, unable to protect herself.

It was that thought more than anything that made her start crying again. She wasn’t powerful. She was weak, and helpless. So helpless. Oh god, she didn’t want to feel that. She felt it all the time, but now it was worse. It was _true_ now. Ketch was hurting her and there was nothing she could do.

And there’d been nothing she could do against Lucifer. He’d overpowered her, broken into her hotel room, beaten her, burned her, crushed her skull. And he’d laughed while doing it. But just before she’d died he’d shown her something, something dark and evil that took over her mind now, and it owned her.

That sickening face he’d shown her encroached upon her mind, and it laughed at her as her feet burned more and more, Ketch continuing to whip her, unaware of the struggle inside her head.

Rowena didn’t even know how long that went on for, but it felt like her feet had been flayed down to the bone, and still there was that incomprehensible darkness and _fear_ in her mind, red eyes that seemed to gaze into her very soul and violate her, see all she was without her permission. It had her shuddering just as much as the physical pain did. The whip seemed to eat at her feet, the leather hungry for blood, the wire tearing into her with insatiable desire.

Finally, Ketch seemed finished with this. Her blood dripped to the floor, and once again, he was running the whip against her skin, underneath her skirt which he’d lifted up, staining her pale skin with her own blood.

He placed the whip aside, and pulled something from his pocket, his hands going to the cuffs. To her surprise he undid the cuffs, and she nearly fell, but before she could, he caught her, an arm around her, holding her against him.

“Now, I want you to try to escape again,” he breathed into her ear, his voice low and excited in a way that turned her already weak stomach. “Indulge me.”

He forced her flat onto her feet, and Rowena fell back against him, crying out through gritted teeth.

“Go on. Take a step,” he urged her.

She did take a step, howling as she did so, and then she took another, and another. But then it all became too much, the pain in her feet running up into her legs and eating at her, and she fell forward, slumping onto the ground.

“Feel like agreeing to make me a resurrection seal yet?” he asked. “Agree and this can all stop. As much fun as you are I’ll even let you go afterwards. And what’s the harm in it? You know I’m a man of my word.”

“S-suck some hairy baws.”

Ketch laughed. “I’m not Scottish, but that sounded _very_ offensive.”

“It was!” Rowena admitted, spitting some blood onto the floor that had come up in her mouth.

She tried dragging herself away from him, and Ketch was approaching. He grabbed her by the back of her neck in a bruising grip, and dragged her up, having her face him.

“You know, you’re not getting anywhere with this, Rowena. You will give in. You’re not as strong as you think you are.”

Those last words stabbed into her chest and she started screaming at him, screaming her pain, her rage, her sheer terror. And it did nothing. Absolutely nothing.

She ended up in the chains again, and Ketch was now behind her, unashamedly pressed up against her.

“God, your blood and your screams get me hot,” he admitted. “So hot.”

Rowena swallowed roughly as she felt his erection pressing up against her. He wouldn’t… Would he?

One hand was up under her skirt now, his rough hands caressing her, and she started whimpering.

Sam and Dean were coming. They had to be coming. They had to. Surely they were. Right? She wasn’t going through all of this for nothing?

Her stomach turned when Ketch’s warm fingers went underneath her panties, slowly dragging them down.

“And you look good with the short hair, too,” he said, his voice low, gruff. “Makes you look like mine.”

“I’m… I’m _not_ yours,” she got out.

“My dear, not yet,” he breathed, his lips against her ear. “But you will be.”

And then his fingers were in her, not even caring that she wasn’t wet. It burned, and her stomach twisted violently, threatening to empty itself.

“Ooh, you’re _tight_ ,” he commented.

“That’s because… that’s because I’m not turned on, you git.”

“God, I know.”

And then he sucked her ear into his mouth, his two fingers burrowing deeper. He crooked them, pressing them against her with far too much pressure, and a distressed moan left her.

“Does that hurt?” he asked, his voice breathy.

“Maybe if you had something… other than… oh god… other than air in between your ears you might know the answer to that.” She whimpered as his thumb brushed over her clitoris.

“Good. Very good.”

He worked her for about a minute, her treacherous body growing wet from his touch, heated. But still her stomach was twisting agonizingly, hating what was being done to her.

“Now how do you feel about that resurrection seal?”

“Same… as before,” she moaned out.

He slowly rotated his hips against her, one arm wrapped tightly around her body.

“Keep resisting me and I’ll take this further,” he threatened.

“No you won’t. You’re a brute, but you’re not a rapist.”

“I can always change that.”

“Great, now you’re thinking with your cock.”

Though Rowena was trying to not show how much this was bothering her, it really was. His breath on her, his hands on her, his fingers _in her_ , and his obvious excitement at her predicament was enough to make her want to tear the memory from her head. It wasn’t the only memory she wanted to tear from her, but this one was more than she could handle. She didn’t have any more tears left to cry, didn’t have much strength left. So she couldn’t fight as he did this to her. In fact, she moaned, her body arching into him. And she hated it, hated herself. Her cheeks burned red, her neck flushing as the pleasure in between her legs grew, and her body just wanted more, so much more.

“There we go,” he murmured. “Almost there. You’re almost there.”

“Stop!” she cried out. “Please, just _stop_!”

“I’m sorry, Rowena, but the lovely body you’ve kept preserved so well all these years is telling me something _quite_ different.”

She bit her lip against a moan that threatened to come from her throat, and then she started whimpering, her hips bucking into his hand before she could stop herself.

Screw the Winchesters. Screw all of this. Maybe if she gave him the resurrection seal he’d agree to kill her. Death was all she wanted now. Before she could speak her terms, the pressure that had been building up in between her legs was let loose, all her muscles tensing as her insides clenched around his thick fingers. Pleasure burst through her, taking over her pelvis, flaring up into her stomach, and making her light-headed. She was too lost in the throes of it to feel relieved when his hand left her.

Ketch ground himself against her through it, but then he let go of her, walking around to face her. The pleasure left her body, the fire and throbbing in her coming to the forefront of her mind again. She couldn’t look him in the eye as she asked fearfully, “What now?”

“I get back to torturing you,” he answered simply. “You’re right. Rape, too barbaric. Not me.”

Rowena let loose a relieved sigh. Having him touch her like that had already been too much, she wasn’t sure she’d be able to take anything else. She wasn’t even sure if her body could handle anything else. Still, she wondered if Ketch knew that what he had just done had been wrong.

“That was still atrocious,” she said.

“I disagree,” he stated simply, his voice still holding a gravelly edge to it. “You’re delicious when you’re trying to fight your own body.”

“So,” she began, eyeing his erection pointedly, “you’re not going to take care of that?”

“I would _love_ to, but I don’t trust leaving you alone again. Besides, I have work to do.”

He went over to the horrible table with all his devices once more and picked up a blowtorch. “Let’s get started on your back. I’m sure you have such wonderful, unmarred skin there.”

Rowena tugged at her restraints, kicking her legs feebly as he got behind her again. He tore at the fabric of her dress, revealing her back, and then she heard the rushing sound of the blowtorch as it turned on.

_Oh god, oh god, oh god._

“Usually I’m not very fond of fire,” he told her, “but I’m going to enjoy this.”

First there was heat, and then it grew and grew until it was unbearable. And then she was burning, sensation itself into her nerves as her skin surely reddened and blistered.

Her voice left her, the sound ugly and terrible, barely human.

Lucifer was burning her again. His face filled her mind, his laughter in her ears. Oh god, it hurt. It hurt like nothing she knew how to explain. There was Lucifer and the fire and nothing else. She forgot where she was. Forgot the dungeon.

She was in that hotel room, shrieking in terror and agony as the Devil burned her alive.

The fire ate her, its tongues hungry and cruel and ravenous. It stole her life, her very essence. She died with Lucifer’s sanity-stealing face in her vision.

When the blackness in her mind took her Rowena jolted back to reality.

Ketch. Ketch was burning her.

He kept at it, running it all over her back, charred flecks of her skin falling off and onto the bloodied floor. It hurt the most at her lower back near her tailbone. Rowena had done a fair amount of torturing herself in her life and she knew that a lot of nerve endings were there, so it was no surprise.

After he finished with that Rowena wasn’t sure how she was still sane. Maybe she wasn’t.

He placed the blowtorch down on the table, crossing his arms as he faced her.

“How are you feeling?” he asked her.

Rowena couldn’t answer, in too much pain to talk. She tried to lick her dry lips, but her body refused to listen to her. Her mouth hung open, spit dripping down onto the floor.

“I want that resurrection seal, Rowena. And I _will_ get it. I won’t stop till I do.”

Rowena calmed the part of her mind that was rocking back and forth in a dark corner and screeching at anything and everything, and then she seemed able to function again, at least a little bit.

“T-then kill me. I’ll… I’ll do it… if you kill me afterwards.”

He shook his head. “No, I can’t risk that. I might need your particular talents again in the future.”

Rowena let out a despairing moan, which turned into a high-pitched shriek.

Ketch just picked up a knife, keeping his promise to continue. She almost fainted from the sight of the serrated metal, not sure how she’d be able to take much more.

The door suddenly slammed open, a loud bang sounded that hurt her ears, and Ketch dropped to the floor.

It wasn’t till there was a Winchester, bloodied from battle, on either side of her and red was blooming out from Ketch’s chest that Rowena realized she was being rescued. She fainted in Sam’s arms.

 

Rowena was lying on her side, or she thought she was lying on her side. She wasn’t too sure. She was in something that was moving, and it was making her dizzy, and there was just unspeakable pain everywhere. She tried to move, and ended up crying out from her weak attempt.

A familiar voice met her, and the comforting tone surprised her, “Hey, hey. It’s okay. We’ll be at the bunker soon.”

“Sam?” she asked weakly, her voice scratchy from all the screaming she’d done.

“Yeah, it’s me. And Dean’s here too.”

“‘Sup.”

There was a sound of impact, like someone had just been whacked.

“Dude, don’t say _‘sup_. We just saved her from Ketch. This is serious.”

“What, you wanna take care of the witch?”

“Dean, we’ve been over this. She’s helped us in the past. It’s only fair that we help her.”

“Yeah, yeah. I know. Just… This is uncomfortable.”

“Get over it.” Now Sam was addressing her again: “Rowena, how you doing?”

“Oh, shut up,” she moaned out. “I feel like-”

Before she could continue that sentence there was a bump in the road that jarred her body, and made her cry out.

“For god’s sake,” she managed to get out, “learn to drive.”

She wanted to say more, but then she got very dizzy, and she felt faint. Blackness took her again.

 

The next time Rowena woke up she was in a bed, and her whole body ached, but not nearly as badly as it had before. She blinked open her eyes, looking around the room. It was dimly lit by a lamp on the bedside table, and based on the sparse, but functional design of the room, she realized she was in a guest bedroom of the bunker. Sam was there, and she realized her skirt was lifted up. That nearly made her panic, but she realized he was tending to the wound on her thigh, gently dabbing at it with wads of cotton that must’ve been dipped in antiseptic. Dean stood in the doorway, his arms crossed as he observed her. She tried to push Sam’s hand away, but it felt like her body had been stuffed with wool.

“Easy, easy,” Sam said to her, just barely touching her shoulder and easing her back down. “You’re hurt pretty bad. Dean gave you some morphine earlier, but you still have to relax.”

Rowena laughed at that, but it didn’t sound right. It was too breathy, too weak. And soon it was hurting her body, and her breathing hitched.

“Just calm down,” Dean soothed, coming over to her.

He took a wad of cotton balls that Sam handed to him, and then he lifted up her dress more. Rowena nearly snarled at him, but then she let out a breath, trying to relax. The Winchesters wouldn’t hurt her, not while she was like this. Unlike Ketch they had honor. And they didn’t have any reason to hurt her at the moment.

Her injuries stung as the two brothers dabbed at them, doing their best to clean them. They must’ve stopped bleeding a while ago, but it didn’t really matter. Blood loss wasn’t enough to kill her.

“We already took care of your back, put a dressing on it. There wasn’t much else we could do,” Dean explained. “The dead skin’ll probably peel off in a few days. You’re lucky he didn’t do worse.”

“Worse?” she asked, her gaze now tearful. “He completely ruined my back.”

“But some layers of your skin,” Sam began in a calm, yet somehow detached voice, “are still undamaged. Trust me, it could’ve been worse.” He paused, raising his eyebrows at her. “And you’ve had worse, haven’t you?” he asked, his tone pointed. She knew what he was referring to.

Rowena turned her head away from them, hoping they didn’t see the tears in her eyes. Terror flooded up in her, hot and cold seizing her at once.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Rowena-”

“I said I don’t want to talk about it!”

Both brothers moved their hands away from her, probably surprised that she’d raised her voice at them. They didn’t continue tending to her just yet, maybe waiting for an apology, but they weren’t about to get one.

As if they’d planned it, they simultaneously started dabbing gently at her wounds again.

“Then tell us how Ketch got you,” Dean said.

“Does it matter? He did, alright?”

“Do you know what he wanted?” Sam inquired.

Rowena snapped her head towards them, her neck aching a bit as she did so. “Is this an interrogation? If so you should’ve left me chained up in that dungeon.”

Sam frowned, shaking his head slightly. “Right, sorry. Um…” He moved his hand away, and it was then that Rowena noticed her panties were up around her hips again. She wondered which one of them had taken care of that. Her cheeks colored with shame. So they knew what had been done to her, or at least knew to some extent. “I’ll take care of your feet,” he said. “That might hurt more. I-I think he tore you to the bone.”

Sam shifted till he was lower on the bed, taking her left ankle into one hand and examining her foot. He winced as he looked at it, his jaw clenching. He turned away for a second, breathing in deeply.

“Is this from a whip?” he asked.

“Yes,” Rowena answered simply.

“And what about this?” Dean asked, swiping over her abdomen, the cotton balls he had now pink and red from her blood. “I’ve never seen this before.”

“Does it matter?”

Dean shrugged. “Guess not.”

She winced, trying to pull her leg away when Sam started trying to clean her foot, but he tightened his grip. Really, it didn’t take much for him to hold her still. Using a lot of her power earlier had drained her, maybe more than getting beaten and tortured had. She let out a shaky breath, telling herself that it was alright. Sam was just trying to help.

“Did… Did Fergus want me to get tortured?” she eventually asked them in a small voice.

Dean sucked in a breath, looking to Sam, his eyes big. Sam gave him a hopeless expression, and then Dean turned to her, clenching his jaw.

“Crowley is…” The hunter trailed off, looking away, and Sam’s lips turned down sympathetically.

“He’s dead, Rowena,” Sam finished quietly. “I’m sorry.”

“Dead?” she repeated, the word falling from her mouth into the empty air, cold, lifeless. The single word spoke of loneliness, of things she would never dare speak aloud. Saying it, trying to put the meaning to it was like walking up the stairs in the dark, anticipating one last step, but there was nothing there. Nothing, and it was like she was falling. Fergus… He was… “Oh god!”

She turned her head away, a whine leaving her as tears poured down her cheeks.

Sam and Dean said nothing, and she was thankful. She already hated being weak in front of them, and she hated crying in front of them. It wasn’t normal for her to show this much emotion, not around others at least, and hardly ever to herself.

Dean began stitching up her abdomen, and Rowena barely felt it. There were just uncomfortable tugs against her skin. He did the same for leg, and then covered both areas with gauze, securing it with tape. As he did that Sam worked on her feet, taking his time with it. She could feel the tugging there too, and he winced sympathetically every once in awhile as he worked. Sometimes though he had to pause and turn away from what he was doing.

The tears stopped by now, and she closed her eyes, already feeling much too tired from all this.

“You want me to take over?” Dean asked Sam eventually.

“No, no.” he cleared his throat. “I’m good. Take care of her shoulders.”

“Okay, Rowena,” Dean said to her, “I’m gonna need you to sit up for me. I need to put a towel down.”

“A towel?”

“It’s so I don’t get alcohol everywhere. I just washed these sheets.”

“Don’t think it really matters,” Sam intoned. “Her blood’s already on it anyway.”

“Fine, fine.”

He grabbed the bottle of alcohol from the bedside table, took a swig from it, and then offered her a sip. Rowena snatched the bottle from him, chugging as much as she could, not caring if it dribbled down over her chin. It took more for her to get drunk than it did for an ordinary human, but she craved that hazy bliss. She just didn’t want to feel anything. It burned going down her throat, but it was the right kind of burn, nothing that she could associate with Ketch or Lucifer. She handed it back to Dean, who looked startled. Sam did as well, but she didn’t care.

Then, he brushed what remained of her hair aside; there were some longer strands still since Ketch had cut it haphazardly. Rowena winced, her back arching slightly as he poured it into the deep wound just next to her neck. And then he did the same for the other side.

“The good news,” he said, eyeing it intensely, “You’ll only need two stitches on each. The bad news, those cuts are pretty deep.”

“No, really?” she asked.

“Okay, okay. Don’t have to get nasty. I was just telling you what’s what.”

“Dean, just let her lash out,” Sam said.

The way he said it was odd, almost like he was annoyed with his brother. And Rowena didn’t like that they were now talking about her as if she wasn’t there.

“I do have ears, you know,” she informed them in a hiss.

“Yeah, sorry,” Sam said. He looked back at her feet again. “Damn, I don’t even think I can stitch all this up. There’s hardly enough skin left on the soles of your feet. I’ll just have to wrap them and see if that helps.”

Rowena nodded, and tried to relax, though it was hard with their hands on her. They weren’t Ketch’s hands or Lucifer’s, but she didn’t _like_ being vulnerable. She didn’t like any of this. It was almost enough to make her start crying again. But she wouldn’t. Just because she felt helpless didn’t mean that she had to show it. So she took deep breaths, even when her abdomen started hurting from holding back the tears, and she tried to weather through this.

They eventually finished, not doing much for her wrists other than wrapping them in gauze. They were reddened and chafed from the cuffs, and probably from the spellwork that’d been redirected back at her. Dean left first, but for some reason that she couldn’t discern, Sam stayed, pulling up a chair so he could sit by her. Rowena looked at him through half-lidded eyes, exhaustion clouding her mind.

“What is it, Samuel?” she asked.

He frowned at her saying his full first name, but he didn’t mention anything about it. “I just…” He took in a deep breath, looking down at his hands which he had clasped in his lap. “I just wanted to let you know that, if you, I don’t know, need to talk, I’m here.”

“You? Really?”

He nodded. “I don’t know how you’re alive, but what Lucifer said he did to you-”

“Stop, stop!” she exclaimed. “Please don’t say his name. I don’t…”

“I know. But I’ve been there, okay? I know what it’s like to be on the other end of his rage, or whatever the hell it is.”

She nodded, sucking in a breath, the corners of her eyes beginning to sting. She’d never really thought about it before, but Sam was right. She’d known that he’d spent time in Hell with Lucifer, and before, she hadn’t cared much about it. She wasn’t sure she did now, not for any sympathetic reasons. But maybe he could be someone she could reach out to, someone she could actually trust. It’d been a few years since Sam had betrayed her, and really she didn’t blame him for it, though she’d been furious at the time. For the most part, she was his enemy.

“Why did you save me?” she asked him slowly.

“I don’t know. It… It felt right, I guess. And you’ve been there for us in the past. You helped Dean with his memory last year. So I guess I didn’t see any harm in saving you.”

“But look at you,” she said, eyeing the blood that was still on him. “You had to fight to get to me.”

He shrugged. “Fighting is kinda the story of my life.”

“But Sam, _why_? What am I to you?”

He shook his head, looking away. “I don’t know. I just knew that you were hurting, and… and I couldn’t just sit around while I knew someone was suffering. It’s not who I am.”

“E-even if that person was me?”

He nodded, and then he let out an uneasy breath. He stood, turning out the light. “Get some sleep, Rowena.”

She didn’t have to be told twice. She might’ve even fallen asleep before Sam had left the room.

 

The next few days were atrocious. Rowena still wasn’t strong enough to use her powers to heal herself completely, and she couldn’t clean herself either. She wasn’t about to let the Winchesters help her with that, though she was grateful when Sam let her borrow one of his shirts. It was large on her, practically a dress. It was warm, and smelled like him, something she was getting used to during her stay. They’d check in on her every once in a while, bringing her food and water, tending to her injuries with care, and sometimes both brothers seemed to be at a loss as to what to say to her.

The worst of it was when she had to ask them to help her to the bathroom since she couldn’t walk. They’d be respectful and not come back in to help her to the sink to wash her hands until she said so, but it was humiliating. It was like she was a child!

The third day was the worst. That was when her back started itching immensely, the feeling burrowing beneath her skin till she wanted someone to rip it off. It felt like her back was burning again, and something just seemed off. Then again, maybe what she was feeling was normal. It wasn’t as if she’d been burned and actually survived it before. She shuddered, cursing her mind for drawing towards Lucifer again.

“Sam!” she called, hating how her voice cracked on his name. She felt pathetic having to cry out for either one of them. Usually she asked for Sam. What he’d said to her had remained with her, and she hadn’t talked yet, wasn’t sure she knew how to, but at least she knew she could trust him to some degree.

He didn’t come, so she called for him again, louder this time.

She heard the heavy sound of his footsteps, and then he was hurrying into the room.

“What is it?” he asked her.

“I don’t know. My back. It itches.”

“That’s a good thing,” he said.

“A good thing? I want someone to skin me!”

He laughed softly. “Understandable.” He placed his hands on his hips, looking at her. “Okay, I’ll be right back, just have to get a few things ready.”

He was gone again before she could ask him about it.

Luckily he wasn’t gone long. Rowena was already gripping the bed sheets tightly to keep herself from scratching herself. She focused on breathing deeply, trying to think about anything else. But there wasn’t even really anything she wanted to think about. She hated all of this, hated her situation, hated how she felt, hated what her life had become. What good was there in it? And her only son was…

She could barely think it, already choking up as Fergus as a little boy, running and laughing, entered her mind. She wasn’t sure why she should care so much. She had abandoned him, but now that fact hurt. The time she could’ve had with him… Now it was too late to even try and get to know him, to try and make up for how she’d neglected him.

Rowena sighed wearily, a tear dripping down onto the cream-colored quilt on the bed. Sam returned just after she wiped another tear away.

He carried her carefully into the bathroom, though it was a struggle because she just about hurt wherever he put his hands on her. Still, he was surprisingly gentle for a man his size.

“Okay, this is probably gonna hurt,” he explained, “but I have to lie you down on your stomach.”

“Just do it. I’m not a baby.”

He set her down on the edge of the bathtub in the large bathroom he’d taken her into. She figured it was a separate bathroom from the one he and Dean used, and she was thankful for that. There was a white towel he’d lain out on the floor, probably what he wanted her to lie down on.

“But first,” he said, “uh…” His cheeks reddened and he scratched at the back of his neck. “You have to- have to take the shirt off.”

“Oh.”

Rowena was embarrassed by this, especially since she wasn’t wearing a bra underneath, but maybe it didn’t matter. Sam was just doing what he had to to take care of her. He wasn’t like Ketch. He wouldn’t touch her without her wanting it. Besides, she’d had to do the same around Dean last night when he’d changed the dressed on her burns. That didn’t make it any easier though.

“I’ll uh, turn away,” he said. He smiled nervously before turning himself around, resting his hands against the counter. There was a mirror above it, but he didn’t look there, just lowered his head, as if the sink drain had suddenly become very interesting.

Rowena painstakingly took the shirt off, glad that she had least still had her panties, and then, with shaking limbs, doing her best to keep her weight off her feet, she laid herself face down on the towel. She winced as that put pressure on her abdomen, but she was able to handle it.

“All set,” she called to him

Sam turned around again, and knelt beside her, gently taking off the gauze Dean had put on her back the night before. He threw it into the trash can that was next to the sink, and then he leaned over her, grabbing another towel that he’d had resting over the edge of the bathtub. He turned on the water, soaking the towel in it. It felt weird having him above her like that, but it didn’t freak her out. For some reason she trusted him. 

Maybe all this was making her weak.

He turned the water off, and squeezed the towel, water dripping down into the tub. And then he carefully placed it on her back.

“I know the towel isn’t the softest one around,” he said, “but I needed something thin that wouldn’t stick to your back. Some of your blisters have popped and your skin’s peeling.”

“And that’s a good thing?”

He sat back on his heels, nodding. “Means you’re healing.”

Rowena shifted slightly, relaxing at the coolness of the wet towel on her. Eventually, she sighed contently, the itching ceasing for now.

“Rowena, do you feel up for doing any magic? I know it might not be easy, but if it’ll make you heal faster...”

“No,” she said before tightening her lips into a thin line.

“I’ll help,” he offered. “I know I’m nowhere as good as you, but I know some stuff.”

“No. I-I can’t. I just can’t.”

She could feel that she was still drained in that way. Her body was doing all it could to heal, and it wasn’t focusing on the magical reserves she’d drained. Damaging the warding in the dungeon had done a number on her, and she wondered if that bit of herself she’d drained away would ever come back. It always had, but…

“I’m… I’m weak,” she admitted, hating the way the last word felt in her mouth.

Sam took in a breath as if he were steeling himself, and then he said, “Trust me, you’re not weak. You’ve kicked my ass too many times for me to think you are.”

“But I’m _hurt_ , Sam. It’s that simple.”

“So? That doesn’t change who you are, what you can do. You just need some time.”

“I don’t think _time_ is the issue,” she responded.

“What do you mean?”

Rowena swallowed roughly. “I mean, people always say things get better with time, but… it hasn’t. It’s been _months_ since- since… A-and I can’t get it out of my head. It’s like he’s laughing at me every time I… I can’t make it go away, Sam. I-I-I _can’t_.” She sniffled, her breathing hitching, and then tears were staining her bruised cheeks.

“And it won’t go away.”

She turned to him, tilting her head up to look at him, her eyes wide and bewildered. “ _What?_ ”

He closed his eyes, his adam’s apple bobbing up and down.

“It won’t go away. It just… kind of stays there, you know? I mean, for me, it’s been years. But it still keeps me up at night, even makes it hard to get out of bed, to do anything, really.”

“And you deal with it?” she asked incredulously.

He shrugged. “Not really, no. I don’t think so. I don’t even know what dealing with it would look like. It’s just, this darkness in my memories, and as much as I want it to go away, as much as I try to bury it… it doesn’t leave.”

“Ever.”

“No.”

She buried her face in the towel. “God, Sam! I can’t live like this! I can’t… I can’t do it!”

Next thing she knew she was sobbing, the way her body convulsed hurting, and that made her cry even more. She hated it! One of Sam’s large hands was now over hers, grasping lightly at her fingers.

“Hey, hey, hey. It’s okay. It’s okay. You’ve made it this far,” he said. “You have. You can keep going.”

“W-why do y-you… care?” she got out.

“Because I know what it’s like, okay? I know how it hurts, how you feel… afraid, and helpless. But I keep going ‘cause I have to believe that there’s more than this. I have to!”

“W-what if there’s not?”

“There is,” he insisted. “There has to be.”

He held onto her fingers like that until she stopped crying, and he didn’t say anything else. Rowena wanted to just scream, rip her hair out. But all she could do was lay there helplessly while Sam Winchester had to comfort her.

“Sam, I died,” she eventually said.

“I know. Lucifer told me.” Rowena winced when he said his name, and Sam probably noticed, but he went on, “What he did sounded… it sounded pretty terrible.”

“That’s an understatement of the century.”

“Yeah. I know. Um… how are you _alive_?”

“It wasn’t easy.”

Sam remained silent, seeming to understand that she didn’t feel like explaining. She really, really didn’t. It’d been painstaking, and it’d taken a lot out of her, and it’d hurt. Oh god, it’d hurt. She’d had to do it while struggling with the memories of her death, the memories of what Lucifer had shown her before he’d snuffed the life out of her.

“Did he ever show you what he looks like?” Rowena asked him.

A pained sound seemed to rumble out from Sam’s chest, and then he answered, “He did.”

“And you’re still sane?”

He laughed at that. “Truth is, I might not be. Or maybe I am. It’s hard to tell.”

“Have you _talked_ to anyone about it?”

He shrugged, his mouth opening and closing a few times as his eyes welled up with unshed tears. “No,” he answered quietly. “The world kept almost ending, so I’ve just pushed it down. Dean would listen, I know he would. But… I don’t even _know_ where to start, or _how_ to talk about it. There’s too much there.”

“But I could talk about it?” she asked tentatively. “With you?”

“If you want. I know what you’re going through. We’re not friends, but you’re not my enemy right now either, so when you’re ready, I’m here.”

That was the end of their conversation, and it left Rowena with a lot to think about. Not all of it she could come to terms with. She didn’t like that that maddening, sickening helplessness would stay with her, constantly gnawing away at her insides and making her tense up whenever the slightest thing startled her. She didn’t like that the itching feeling on the back of her neck would stay, that feeling that somewhere, someone wanted to hurt her, that _Lucifer_ wanted to hurt her. And her mind told her that it was only a matter of time before he would do so again.

Sam finished taking care of her back, and she thankfully didn’t need his help to put the shirt back on her. Even that had tired her out, so once he’d helped her back into her room, she’d fallen asleep, even declining his offer for him to make her lunch.

 

More days passed like that, of the Winchesters taking care of her, and sometimes at night when she couldn’t sleep she’d call out for Sam. He’d come in, looking like he’d been awake too. They’d talk, sometimes about magic, sometimes about Crowley, sometimes about Lucifer. Rowena felt herself opening up bit by bit, and as much as she hated it, she thought that maybe, just maybe, it was helping her.

She felt selfish from taking his time away from him like that. But he didn’t seem to mind, and while Dean seemed to be getting annoyed with her, he didn’t complain directly to her. Once she’d heard Sam and Dean arguing about her, their voices raised and heated, Dean saying that she was too dangerous to keep around for much longer. And Sam had wanted her to stay, explaining that she’d be better soon.

That made her hopeful, but she knew he only meant better physically. Sam had already told her too many times that her mind would never fully heal.

And now she had memories of Ketch to contend with as well. Sometimes those were what kept her up at night, his devices hurting her, digging into her skin, his hands on her, pleasuring her. She was glad he was dead, glad that she’d seen his eyes staring lifelessly up at the ceiling of the dungeon. But it didn’t change what he’d done. It didn’t change how sometimes she cried from sheer confusion, how her chest seemed to hurt so badly she couldn’t breathe.

On one of the nights that her torture at Ketch’s hands mixed with how Lucifer had killed her, she woke up screaming. And Dean was there, trying to tell her everything was going to be okay.

He tried to put a hand on her shoulder, and Rowena abruptly sat up, shoving him away.

“It’s not going to be okay!” she yelled. “Can’t you see? It’s never going to be okay!”

“W-what? Rowena, what are you talking about?”

“Lucifer!” she cried out. “He… He…” She started feeling like she couldn’t breathe, like her very blood was on fire as her hands and feet tingled. It hurt in her feet, though Sam and Dean had been taking care of her to make sure she healed there without any infection. The wounds were starting to close, but still it hurt. “Sam,” she gasped out. “I need Sam.”

“He’s on a hunt,” Dean answered.

Rowena looked to him, her eyes wild. “H-he didn’t say he was going to… going to go on a hunt!”

“Yeah, ‘cause my brother doesn’t have to tell you everything.”

“Shut up! Just shut up!”

Dean stepped back, raising his hands in a peaceful gesture.

“Do you want me to call him?” he offered tentatively.

“Yes. Yes, call him.”

“Okay, okay. Just try to take deep breaths.”

Dean turned around, digging his phone out of his pocket to call Sam. And all the while Rowena tried to not hyperventilate. She drowned out his voice, finding it difficult to focus with him talking. And then a phone was being pressed to ear.

“Here,” Dean told her softly.

Rowena grabbed onto the phone, clutching it till her knuckles were white.

Sam’s tone was casual when he asked, “Hey, Rowena, what’s going on?”

Not caring that Dean was still in the room, Rowena answered, “I saw it again. I saw his face, in my nightmare. Oh god, it’s so… _evil_.”

“I know, Rowena. I know. But he can’t get you.”

A near hysterical laugh left her at that. It might have actually been a sob.

“He’s in another universe,” Sam assured her. He’d told her that a while ago, along with explaining that Crowley had bravely sacrificed himself to lock the Devil away. “You’re safe.”

“I don’t feel safe.”

“I know. But remember, you’re in the bunker. It’s warded against basically everything, and Dean’s with you. He won’t let anyone hurt you.”

“Sure,” she drawled out sarcastically.

Sam sighed. “Okay, well, if it makes you feel better I’ll be back tomorrow. Already took care of the ghoul I went after.”

Tomorrow. She could do that, could wait that long. Really, it wouldn’t be that long, right? She just had to get through that night.

“Tell me about the hunt,” Rowena begged. “Please, I just, I need something to distract me.”

There was a smile in Sam’s voice as he agreed. Dean stayed through it, wiping his face every once in a while as if he was tired, but he didn’t say anything, just waited. She found it odd that Dean of all people was being patient with her, but then again, she didn’t know him inside and out. In the last week both the Winchesters had surprised her.

Sam told her about the hunt until Rowena could barely keep her eyes open, and she managed to say goodbye before handing the phone back to Dean. She settled back down into bed, lying on her side, and she heard Dean talking softly to Sam as he left the room, closing the door behind him.

 

The next day, after breakfast, Dean took her stitches out. It’d hurt a bit, but mostly it had just been uncomfortable. He didn’t take them out of her feet yet though, and she wasn’t too surprised there. She still couldn’t walk. But, the good thing with her body healing it meant that now her own energy was storing up again, and she could feel her abilities returning to her. Today, she was going to try and heal herself. She’d need Sam’s help like he’d offered, but she tried to be okay with that. Though her stomach twisted when she thought about the night before, how she’d needed Sam of all people to comfort her, she pushed it down. It shouldn’t matter, should it? He understood. She tried telling herself that being vulnerable didn’t have to be a bad thing. She wasn’t very convincing though. To her it _was_ a bad thing. Every time she’d been vulnerable she’d gotten hurt. And she’d been forced to be vulnerable too. Her stomach twisted violently, threatening to spill up her breakfast, as she relived Ketch touching her.

Some sound of distress must have left her without her realizing it because Dean popped his head into the room.

“Everything okay?” he asked.

She nodded, but he still didn’t leave.

“No,” she eventually admitted, his inquiring gaze grating on her nerves. “But I didn’t think you’d want to hear about it.”

He shrugged, stepping into the room. “I cleaned up from breakfast, so I’ve got nothing better to do.” Rowena glared at him for the way he’d phrased that. “Okay, sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. I’m just… I’m having a hard time with all of this, you know? The last time I was really, um, close to one of my enemies was with Crowley.” He looked away quickly, his cheeks reddening, but still, he came over and sat in the seat beside the bed. There was some awkward silence, and then Dean asked, “Do you miss him?”

Rowena instantly shot back, “Do you?”

To her surprise the hunter nodded, but his green eyes still didn’t meet hers.

“I hate myself for it,” he admitted, “but I got used to him. He was like a friend sometimes. And he was dependable. I mean, I couldn’t always depend on him to help me, but at least I knew he had the courage to stab me in the back if the opportunity presented itself.” Dean laughed a little, and it sounded sad. “But, towards the end, he was different. It was like he enjoyed helping us, helping me. I guess I kind of miss that.”

After that, Rowena felt bad for keeping her mouth shut about her son, but she still did. She didn’t know what to say, didn’t know what she was precisely feeling for him. Grief. There was that, but more than anything, regret, a deep well of it that resided in the bottom of her chest like a yawning pit that threatened to drag her in. But she couldn’t let it. She just couldn’t. There was already too much that was making her soul bleed.

“And he was funny, too,” Dean went on, a small smile on his face. “I don’t exactly like thinking about those weeks I was a demon, but they weren’t terrible, I guess. He was there, and we had a lot of fun together. Hell, more fun than should be legal.” For some reason Dean’s cheeks colored at that, and now he really averted her gaze. “He was a demon, and some days I just wanted to stab him, but I don’t hate him. Not anymore. I forgot how to do that a long time ago.”

He shook his head, as if he was angry at himself, and he wiped his hand over his face. “God, I don’t know why I’m telling you this.”

“If it helps,” Rowena began, “I won’t tell Sam.”

He looked up at her, his bright green eyes meeting her darker ones. “Oh really? You seem to be telling him everything these days.”

She smiled at him. “Not everything. Trust me, I don’t think wee Samuel could handle hearing all there is to know about my life.”

Dean shot her a devious grin. “Oh really?”

“And maybe you couldn’t either. I’ve had much more time to be… promiscuous than the two of you have.”

That set Dean off laughing, and when he calmed down he asked, “Got any good stories?”

“I’ll share mine if you share yours.”

That made Dean bite his bottom lip, as if he was deliberating what she said. He hissed in a breath. “Gonna have to hold off on that then, Red.”

“Smart choice.”

Dean raised his eyebrows for a quick second, a smile on his face again, and then he got up from the chair, tapping a hand against his thigh.

“I’ll let you know when Sam’s back, okay?”

She nodded, and then he left her alone again.

 

Rowena found herself dozing in those few hours she had to wait. She didn’t mind really. She knew her body needed it. Besides, her mind didn’t seem keen on playing any of her various tortures on loop this time.

Dean led Sam into the room when he got back, but she fell into a deeper sleep. She woke what might have been a few minutes later, and he was still there.

“Doing any better today?” he asked.

She sat up, nodding and stretching. She tried not to raise her arms too much though. She still hadn’t been able to clean herself and she absolutely despised it. But, she’d be able to care of that very soon.

“I need your help,” she told him, unable to keep an excited smile from her face.

“Oh?” he asked, also smiling a little.

“I’m going to do some spellwork to finally heal myself. I’ve been bedridden for much too long.”

Sam responded instantly, his tone serious, “Tell me what you need.”

After carrying her to the library and setting her down in one of the leather armchairs, Sam got the ingredients together that she’d instructed: lotus and rose petals, crushed apple seeds, merlot (which he said Dean had been saving for their next trip to Vegas, though it was already half-drunken), an angel feather, teeth from a bear, badger, and horse respectively, and ashes from a crane and from a robin. Sam asked what each of them would do for the spell, and Rowena didn’t mind explaining it to him, glad that he was helping her. She was a bit surprised he had all the ingredients, but the bunker seemed well-stocked with all kinds of supplies, and he had explained that the Men of Letters had been big on making sure they had everything they might need on hand. He also got the dark green candles she’d asked for, seven to be precise. When Rowena was ready to start combining the ingredients, Sam helped her over to the table where they were assembled in various bowls and jars.

This part she wanted to do herself. Moving her arms so much pulled at the wounds in her back, and the message she had carved into herself to get to Sam twinged in her forearm as well. It was scabbed over by now, and some of the scabs had even peeled off, showing fresh, pink skin underneath. Sam had his sleeves rolled up, and she saw that it was the same for him. He stayed with her as she worked, in case she needed everything, and really, Rowena didn’t mind

When all the ingredients were together in the same bowl, save for the rose and lotus petals which she’d crushed up, she limped over to the floor. She almost fell, and Sam was quickly out of his seat, catching her, his hands on her biceps.

“Thank you,” she breathed.

Sam tilted his head at her sharply as his form of a _you’re welcome_ , and then he helped her settle on the floor. After having him place the candles around her in a circle, spacing them out evenly, he carefully lit them, and then he stepped back, letting her do what she needed to.

Rowena took in a deep breath, focusing on the energy around her and in her, mentally picturing how it all connected. The candles worked to bind her magic to this precise area, and the intent behind them, the green to represent healing, would aid her in this. She placed the metal bowl down in front of her and then dipped her fingers into the violet liquidy paste before painting out symbols on the floor in different runes and swirling designs. They all started out separately, but by the time she was done they were interwoven, connecting just as they should.

She quietly requested for Sam to place the crushed up flower petals into each of her hands, and he did so carefully, knowing how sensitive spellwork could be.

Then, she bowed her head, held her arms out with her hands closed into fists to keep from dropping the petals, and started chanting, “ _Corpus fractum atque infracta virtus abstulistis. In propria industria mea vita, quae ego loquor ad me veniet et sana me renovare me. Corpus erit iterum liberi doloris curari. Vires non deficient meus me non effundet sanguinem meum. Igne novo ipsum_.” With the last words she threw the crushed up flower petals into the bowl in front of her, and fire sparked to life in it, nearly making her flinch back. But this time when that fire burned, it didn’t conjure up her fear and awaken it from its mild slumber. It filled her with raw energy, and it burned, but it was the burn of feeling the sun on her skin after being inside for much too long, of feeling its rays on her body. And energy poured into her that left her crying out. Her injuries flared to life, making her back arch, and the burning grew stronger. This time her memories threatened to overwhelm her, Lucifer’s face in the corner of her eye, mocking her, looming over her like a shadow that would never leave. But she had died in fire, she’d been hurt in fire, and she would be renewed in fire.

The raw magic flowed through her until she was healed, and then she fell forward, gasping for breath. She felt better than she had for days. And, Rowena couldn’t keep from beaming down at herself as she stood all on her own, her feet holding her.

Sam was staring with wide eyes, awe in his hazel depths.

“I did it!” Rowena exclaimed.

“Yeah,” he breathed out. “Wow. I don’t think I’ve seen magic like that before.”

“Oh, darlin’, that was nothing.”

Rowena quickly closed her mouth, realizing that she had wanted to continue speaking. She’d almost told him about her search for the Black Grimoire, how she needed a specific spell to break the binding that Grand Coven had put on her. But… She’d grown closer to him these last few days. Was it possible that he’d just give to her?

“Now, I’m off to shower, and I expect I’ll stay in there for a _long_ time, so don’t interrupt me.”

Sam pulled his head back, his expression scrunching up into something almost comical. The poor boy. He was confused, maybe a little startled. He huffed out a laugh, and then Rowena turned from him and left the room.

 

Rowena nearly moaned when she was under the hot water of the shower. After days without it, of being in bed, weak, and helpless, it felt beyond good. She cleaned herself over and over again, just reveling in the fact that she could do so. And her own blood that had still stained her skin mixed with the water so that a pink concoction ran down into the drown. It felt good to rinse away Ketch’s touch, to just let all of it slide away from her. She imagined it was going into a great black void that swallowed it up, and as much as she tried to do it for the way he’d hurt her, for the way Lucifer had hurt her, she just couldn’t.

At first what had felt good left her hunched over and crying.

 _I’m healed!_ she thought to herself. _I have no reason to cry._

But she knew she was wrong. After all her talks with Sam she knew better. But still she couldn’t accept it. It was why she needed the Black Grimoire.

After she showered she dried off and then wrapped the towel around herself, realizing that she didn’t have anything to wear. She called to Sam again, her cheeks coloring. He was there instantly, his voice coming from the other side of the dark wooden door.

“You all good in there?”

“Yes, I just… I need another one of your shirts.”

“Right. On it.”

In about a minute the door opened slightly and Sam’s hand reached around, another one of his flannel shirts held in it. She grabbed it from him and quickly put it on, letting the towel drop to the tiled floor.

For the first time in days Rowena looked in the mirror. She had been too frightened while she was injured to do so, knowing that all she would see was blood and bruises. But not it was as if she’d never been injured, but her eyes said otherwise. They looked haunted. And her hair. Her hair! She still couldn’t believe Ketch had cut it, that he’d taken it from her, that it possibly still lay on the floor of that dungeon.

She knew it would grow back, but… It had been part of her. And now it was gone. She looked up, blinking fiercely, trying to stop herself from crying.

Rowena opened the drawer at the counter, figuring there might be a pair of scissors in there. Thankfully there was. Ketch hadn’t cut her hair evenly at all, and she needed to fix that. It took a few minutes, and Rowena hated watching more of her fiery locks fall to counter, into the sink, onto the floor. But it was something she had to do.

When she was finished she went out to look for Sam, hoping she could talk to him before she left. And maybe he’d be kind enough to take her to the hotel that she had been previously staying at. She missed her clothes, missed not having to depend on the Winchesters.

 _Soon,_ she promised herself. _Things will be back to normal soon._

She found Sam in the library, just now cleaning up from her spellwork.

“You look like you’re feeling better,” he commented, glancing over at her.

“Much better.” She came forward, sitting herself down on the table closest to him, pulling his shirt down over her thighs. “Sam, I have to ask you something.”

“Shoot.”

“The Black Grimoire,” she began, “I know it’s here. I need it.”

He suddenly stilled, his hand gripping one of the candles much too tightly, his thumb pressing an indent into the wax.

“Why?” he asked, not looking at her.

“There’s a spell, one that’ll help me become more powerful.”

He looked around at the designs and runes he still had to clean up from the floor, and then at her.

“ _More_ powerful? W-why? Why would you need more power?”

She glanced up at the ceiling, forcing herself to speak calmly as she said, “Lucifer.”

“Rowena,” Sam started, getting to his feet and going over to her, placing the candle down beside her, “I told you, he’s in another universe.”

“Oh don’t be ridiculous!” she cried. “Another universe? So? How long will that stop him?”

“He’s stuck there,” Sam reasoned, raising his voice slightly.

“No, Sam. He’s not! Lucifer’s never stuck _anywhere_! He always, _always_ comes back. You know that.”

Sam closed his eyes, his breathing growing heavy. “No, no. Not this time. He’s gone.”

“Don’t be so daft!”

“Fine, say…” He paused, swallowing roughly, “Say he does come back. Then what?”

“Then I kill him like he killed me.”

“And this spell, it’ll help you do that?”

“Yes. Please, Sam, I need it.”

He let out a breath and then went over to the other side of the library, crouching down and reaching into a chestnut cabinet. He pulled out something covered in a velvet cloth, which he removed as he came over to her. It was the Black Grimoire, the book old, the binding of cracked leather, it’s pages yellowed with age. But those pages held power, and the key to her release from the binding spell. She leaned towards it eagerly, turning as he placed it down next to her.

“Which one?” he asked, not looking at her.

Rowena took the book from him, which Sam had a hard time letting go of, and then she flipped through the pages till she found what she was looking for. She showed it to him, and Sam snatched the book away back, the quick action making Rowena’s heart leap into her throat.

As he started ripping the page out he said, “But don’t think this means you’ll be better,” he said bitterly. “You won’t be. You’ll still be terrified. And someday, someday you’ll have to deal with that.”

“Hypocrite.”

He handed the page to her, pain in his eyes as he said, “That’s fair.”

She folded it up, putting it in the front pocket of his shirt he’d given her.

“Now, I don’t know if I could trouble you for a ride home.”

Sam sighed, but not as if he was tired, just as if he’d seen the question coming. “Where to?”

Rowena told him, and he took her there, lending her his jacket as he helped her to her hotel room. Now they stood outside her door, Rowena with her hand on the silver knob, Sam with his jacket folded over his arm.

“If… If you do find Lucifer,” Sam said, “make him suffer.”

“I will. For both of us.”

She opened the door, and took a step inside, but Sam stopped her by saying, “Oh, and Rowena, keep the shirt. I was getting sick of it anyway.”

She gave him one last smile before he turned, leaving her there. And suddenly Rowena felt very afraid again. Sam had offered some comfort, and now there was his retreating back in her vision. She took in a deep breath, willing the corners of her eyes to stop stinging and for her throat to stop aching.

Helpless. She wasn’t going to be helpless. Not anymore, not again.

Rowena stepped into her hotel room, taking the spell out of her pocket and admiring the complicated, beautiful, old language inked onto the page.

She had work to do.

**Author's Note:**

> I had planned on having Rowena talk to Sam about getting molested, but as I was writing she just didn't want to open up about it, and I'm also not sure if Sam has it in him just yet to talk about being on the receiving end of such attention as well.


End file.
